Chicken Haiku

When trying to find information about the amazingly good The Dark Knight, I stumbled across entertainment Web site zap2it.com’s latest celebrity feature graphic:

How incredibly tastless. From “Cradle to the Grave?” Seriously? Heath Ledger’s death — and any death, for that matter, celebrity or not — needn’t be mocked like this.

It especially shouldn’t be treated with the disregard and disrespect of being a play on words of the title of a horrible DMX/Jet Li movie we cinema fans rather forget about it.

Shame on you, Zap2it.

The world is a little emptier this week due to the passing of one of comedy’s greatest minds: George Carlin.

Carlin, 71, died of heart failure Sunday after admitting himself for chest pains. But, that is information I’m sure you’ve all heard – and, disappointingly, some of you don’t care about.

It is a sad time for comedy lovers everywhere because Carlin was not just another two-bit comic ripping about his wife or his in-laws, or debating whether or not you might be a redneck. And, he didn’t wear vests, don a southern accent and pretend to be a hillbilly for his craft.

Blue Collar Comedy, he was not.

Instead, he was the “counter-culture hero” that everyone dubbed him. He meticulously analyzed the English language and the craziness of the world that surrounds us all. He was a sharp mind with the ability to speak it (angrily and loudly).

“I’m completely in favor of the separation of church and state,” Carlin once said. “My idea is that these two institutions screw us up enough on their own, so both of them together is certain death.”

Everyone that has written about Carlin before me – and presumably, after me – will have undoubtedly cited the “Seven Dirty Words” routine. By today’s standards, most of those words are acceptable on television. But back then, it was a breakthrough performance that had the Supreme Court and the Federal Communications Commission up in arms.

But, that’s not only why Carlin was so special at what he did.

Instead of sticking to the usual comedian fodder like observing that “airline food sucks” and the harrowing experiences of “dating,” Carlin saw ordinary things and made them funny:

“The very existence of flamethrowers proves that some time, somewhere, someone said to themselves, ‘You know, I want to set those people over there on fire, but I’m just not close enough to get the job done.’”

And, in obligatory fashion, I will talk about my exposure to Carlin’s talent. Sadly, I arrived late to the Carlin club, first becoming acquainted with the comedian’s work in 2002 by catching one of his many specials on HBO.

It was one of the funniest things I’d ever seen – here this gray-haired, angry old man was spouting his mouth off and making sense of this strange and bizarre world.

“I don’t have pet peeves,” he said on his HBO “Complaints and Grievances” special. “I have major, psychotic f—-ing hatreds.”

The only other comedian to come close was Billy Connolly, but he was more conversational.

On politicians: “Where are all the bright, honest, intelligent Americans ready to step in and save the country?” Carlin joked. “We don’t have any. They’re all at the mall buying sneakers with lights in them.”

I doubt we will ever see a mind like this again. Sure, Lewis Black is an entertaining enough voice who can shout, much like Carlin. But he’s not that savvy. Nobody will ever come close to it.

Carlin touched many controversial subjects over his time, never backing down from his craft (except, of course, to film “Jersey Girl”). In his tenure, he frequently tackled religion, attempting to break down the Ten Commandments and organized religion.

“I have as much authority as the pope has,” he joked. “I just don’t have as many people believe it.”

His legacy is thankfully preserved with all of his HBO specials, CDs and ridiculously funny books. For those who haven’t read any of Carlin’s books, check out “Napalm and Silly Putty” and “When Will Jesus Bring the Porkchops?”

While the comedy world mourns with the legions of fans he’s left behind, I end this column with this last sobering quote.

“I wanna live. I don’t wanna die. That’s the whole meaning of life: Not dying. I figured that s—t out by myself in the third grade.”

We’ll miss you, George Carlin.

The following column originally appeared in the June 25 issue of The Daily Athenaeum. It is available here.

There’s been much talk about ABC’s adaptation of “Life on Mars,” perhaps one of the finest pieces of English television in years. The series involves Sam Tyler, a detective in the year 2005 that is run down during the course of an investigation.

Sam awakes, but is unsure of his fate — is he dead, dreaming, or has he travelled back in time to 1973?

Below is a fine YouTube comparison — the American seems a little empty and non suspense building. In the original, Sam is met by a then-1973 police officer who enquires him about his state. In the American, there is no officer — just the new Sam, unsure of his whereabouts with only himself to think.

There is nobody to bounce the confusion off.

I worry that ABC will spend too much time making it obvious it’s set in the 1970’s. That is a horrible habit of Hollywood (alliteration, ahoy!) that it drowns period movies and shows in their time — that ’70s show was drowning in cultural references just to reacquaint the viewer with the time period, instead of letting the characters speak volumes.

In the English version that lasted 16 episodes and two series (not by cancellation but by creative decision), the time was irrelevant. It played into the mythology and not to ‘be there.’ It didn’t really matter what time it was. We knew Sam was somewhere different and we weren’t quite sure where. That was the mystery.

Making it all too known — like Austin Powers back in the ’60s did by throwing ridiculous color and circle glam everywhere — ruins the mystery and the suspense and just distracts us from the plot.

When a dog barks, it’s annoying.

When a dog continually barks throughout the night and has one of those annoying, yelping barks, it’s even worse.

When said dog keeps barking at absolutely nothing to the non-reaction of its owners and distracts me, resident of a distant apartment complex, from doing their work, it’s a real kick in the teeth.

Please. If you have a yelping, barking or unnecessarily noisy dog that seems to just launch into fits of barking for no apparent reason, get it a shock collar — or, better yet, play with the damned thing and give it the love and affection it’s obviously craving.